MY faint spirit was sitting in the light       Of thy looks, my love;   It panted for thee like the hind at noon       For the brooks, my love. Thy barb, whose hoofs outspeed the tempest's flight,       Bore thee far from me;   My heart, for my weak feet were weary soon,       Did companion thee.

Ah! fleeter far than fleetest storm or steed,       Or the death they bear,   The heart which tender thought clothes like a dove       With the wings of care; In the battle, in the darkness, in the need,       Shall mine cling to thee,   Nor claim one smile for all the comfort, love,       It may bring to thee.